Caught Up
by Vapid Narcissist
Summary: When Hermione is forced on sabbatical for her health by her two best friends, she never imagines she would end up playing make-believe with the notorious Draco Malfoy. Drama ensues as Ron and Harry try to solve the mystery of Hermione's coming and goings, while Hermione learns what happens when make-believe starts to become reality...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

Finally finished with her multitudes of paperwork, Hermione sighed and set down her quill. She had learned quite quickly that being an auror meant significantly more than just firing spells at lightning speed and trailing vagrants and thieves. Hermione had been outlining, in detail, her recent take down of a measly confidence trickster selling cursed medallions for hours. Harry and Ron, her partners, had offered to stay and help but she sent them away with a false grin. While the work was excessive and time consuming, Hermione had plenty of time to spare; both Harry and Ron had families waiting for them at home.

"Honestly, there's not that much left to do anyways. I'll probably be done and home in an hour." She could tell neither of her best friends was convinced by her strained smile.

"Really, it's no trouble. I told Ginny I'd be home late anyways." Harry made to remove his travelling cloak, but Hermione put out a hand to stop him.

"Please, you have been late all this week. And don't even start, Ronald. I remember Lavender telling you about dinner with Seamus and Dean even if you don't."

Consigned to their friends' obstinate personality, Harry and Ron bade Hermione goodbye, warning her that if she stayed at work later than eight they'd find out and force her to take a vacation. Staring at her desk and the sheets of empty parchment littering its surface, Hermione almost wished she had let them stay. Still, she took a deep breath and dove right in to work. No sense in wasting any more time.

Finally, six hours later and she was finished. Wearily, she rubbed the bridge of her nose and silently sent her file folders into her bag with her wand. All she wanted to do was get a quick bite to eat, get home as quickly as possible and tumble straight into bed. Muscles groaning as she rose from her hunched over position, Hermione checked her watch and was dismayed to find it was already eleven. Oh well, she'd deal with Harry and Ron in the morning.

With no one left in the office, Hermione was left with only the carnivorous flower by the water cooler to say goodbye to. When the elevator got stuck between floors, leaving her with only a small crawlspace to squeeze through when the doors opened, Hermione was forced to contemplate her own wretched bad luck. Therefore, as she dragged her tired body and full bag down a flight of steep and creaky ministry stairs, she decided to forego dinner and go straight home to nurse a pounding headache. After seven dreadful flights, Hermione pushed through a door into a surprisingly populated lobby. Apparently, there was a private ministry ball taking place in the lobby. Bowing her pounding head and ducking around waiters Hermione threaded her way through the dense crowd.

"Sorry, awfully sorry," she said in response to an affronted woman whose train she had trodden on. Blushing at her horribly out of place attire, Hermione set to escape from the blasted party as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. As she dodged a woman in large peacock feathers, Hermione felt someone grab her arm and pull her into a body.

"See, this is my wife right here," said the tall, warm body Hermione was currently mashed against.

"I'm sorry; I think you've got me confus…" Hermione tried to peel the man's arm from around her waist, but he clamped it down tighter.

"Came straight from work, did you dear? I told you Mr. Hargreaves was dying to meet you." Hermione, extremely annoyed at this ridiculous charade, looked up at the man beside her ready to give him a piece of her mind. However, her angry words were halted in her throat at the first glance. Smiling down at her was none other than her blond, good-for-nothing, childhood enemy Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed in surprise. For a moment, Draco's eyes widened in shock as he recognized Hermione, but he quickly arranged his features back into a glittering smile.

"Called me 'Malfoy' since Hogwarts, she has. Isn't she a doll?" He squeezed her closer to his side. "Well, let's get your things into the coat check shall we? Come along, darling."

"Be sure to save me a dance, Mrs. Malfoy," said the man Hermione surmised was Hargreaves before she was ungraciously carted away by Draco. His long legs strode purposefully until he had dragged her through a door into an empty hallway. Immediately, he let go of Hermione's side and grabbed his head, muttering to himself.

"God, you tell one, _tiny_, insignificant white-lie and suddenly you're screwed for your whole bloody life!"

"Malfoy," said Hermione icily, straightening her cloak, "Would you mind explaining what the hell that was all about?" Draco spun around on his heel to face her.

"You. Bloody hell, why were you even here? This all would have been fine if you had been one of those daft, drunk broads that seem to make up half the guest list." He pointed an accusing finger in her direction.

"Me!" she practically exploded, "I was just trying to make it home after an extremely tiring day at work. You're the one who plucked me out of the crowd and started calling me your wife. Honestly, what are you playing at? Actually, never mind, I've had enough of this ridiculousness. I'm going home." With that, Hermione grabbed her bag from where she had dropped it on the floor and began to stalk away. Once again however, she was stopped by Draco's grasp.

"No, you have to stay. Now that Hargreaves has seen you I have no other choice," for once, Hermione was tempted to believe the pleading emotion in his voice was genuine. Unfortunately, she was unaffected.

"No chance, Malfoy. I'm not participating in your sick games." She tried to leave, but Draco's grip stayed fast.

"At least stay so I can explain myself. Calmly, I promise." Hermione looked back stonily at Draco's earnest countenance and shrugged in response. Relieved, Draco led her to a pair of chairs set up around a table in a lighted alcove. Draco retrieved her bag from Hermione's shoulder and set it on the table.

"God, Granger, what do you keep in here? Bricks?"

"Just in case I get accosted by any frisky ferrets," she hissed, "If you would?" She motioned for him to explain himself.

"Right, well, see…Hargreaves is the head of my healing department at St. Mungos. At some hospital fundraiser gala he introduces me to his sister Abyssinia, this _god-awful troll_ of a woman. After a while, Abyssinia invites me to some party with her; it was obvious she fancied me. I couldn't just say no and risk my relationship with Hargreaves, not to mention my job, so I said I was married. It was fine for a while but Hargreaves has been getting antsy, asking to meet her, asking what she does, and all these other questions. This morning, he corners me and says I had better introduce him to my wife tonight or else he is going to be forced to conclude she doesn't exist. On such short notice, even I, with my devilishly handsome good looks couldn't get a date. I panicked when he confronted me and grabbed you from the crowd. Now, you _have_ to stay, because otherwise, he's going to figure out I lied. Will you?" He looked at her with the most un-Malfoyish doe eyes she had ever seen. Alas, they had the opposite effect he was going for: laughter inducing.

"Thank you, Malfoy. That story brightened up my day immeasurably," she chuckled, wiping a tear from her eye and clutching her stomach. "Awfully sorry, but I really must go." She swung her bag onto her shoulder and walked down the hallway, cackling to herself as she went. Draco sat at the table, too stunned to move until finally, some of Hermione's incessant laughter must have triggered a response. Catapulting himself out of the chair, Draco dashed down the hallway behind Hermione.

"Granger, I'll do _anything_ you want. Absolutely anything. I'll pay you. I'll free all my house elves. I'll, I'll even serenade Scarhead and Weasel if you want. _Please_, just stay for an hour or two. Dance a bit; drink as much as you want." He threw himself at her feet and grabbed on to the hem of her wool travelling cape. It was horrifically un-Malfoy like to grovel, but really, he had no choice. Hermione halted and looked at the pathetic individual grasping desperately at her robes. Really, with all he was offering, she didn't have much to lose…

"Fine, I'll stay, but I've nothing appropriate to wear and my head is killing me. And my price is to be determined at a later date." Draco jumped up and whipped out his wand.

"Stay still," he commanded, resting the tip of his wand at her temple. Moments later, as though a glass of water had been dumped on her head, a wave of coolness spread from the tip of the wand. A few seconds after that and her headache had completely disappeared. She sighed delightedly before she looked down at her robes. She wore a standard issue auror outfit of black robes, heavy black boots, and a black wool travelling cloak; perhaps not the best choice of clothes to wear for a Ministry Ball.

Draco looked up and down her frame, surveying her mud splattered boots and a dark stain on her cloak he was certain would turn out to be blood if he asked. Still, he was confident he could turn this country pumpkin into a woman fit for the name of Malfoy. While Hermione discarded her cloak and bag on the floor, Draco transfigured her steel-toed boots into a pair of patent leather pumps. Her robes shortened into a daring muggle cocktail dress. Strapless and synching in tightly at the waist, the black dress ended just above the knees and was detailed with a thick, blood red ribbon wrapping just under her bust and tying into a large bow at the back.

"Honestly, Malfoy! Something a little longer and a little higher would be just as sufficient." She tugged on the bodice to try and force it to sit higher.

"Don't fidget, Granger. The dress looks fine…saw it in a muggle dress shop once in London. I must say, Granger," he drawled, looking her slim, auror toned form up and down, "you sure have filled out nicely since Hogwarts." Hermione scowled, grabbed her cloak and bag and stalked off towards coat check. One of these days she was seriously going to have to consider how sound her judgment really was.

After her effects had been checked (as an addition to Draco's deposit), Draco led Hermione straight to the desert table as per her instructions.

"Just don't eat too much," he warned her in a low voice, "You are the wife of a Malfoy now. One misstep and we _all pay_." Hermione snorted as she took a bite of treacle tart in her right hand and reached to pick up a butter tart with her left.

"You think you're really in a position to threaten, _dearest_?" Draco sidled up to her, and laid his hand on her lower back, reaching for a glass of champagne.

"Let's just agree that you help me, I help you, _sweetheart_." Hermione finished her tarts and reached for a glass of champagne for herself. Before she got there however, Draco grabbed her hand and led her away from the table.

"Excuse me! You said I could drink as much as I want!" She made to go back to the table, but a sharp tug from Draco brought her flush against his body. The hand on her waste pulled her body into his, and the other grasped her bare shoulder.

"Hargreaves is coming, so we are dancing. The less we have to talk to him, the better." With that, Hermione could agree, so she held her tongue and tried to follow Draco's lead. The last time Hermione had properly partner danced was at the Yule ball in fourth year. It was apparent from his confident lead, however, that Draco was well versed in the world of ballroom dancing. Suddenly Draco was swearing under his breath and violently spinning Hermione across the dance floor.

"He's making a beeline for us. Quick, dip down." With barely any warning, Hermione was thrown into a low dip and swung back up, her hand landing squarely on Draco's chest. Draco may have cured her headache but her lack of sleep was doing nothing for an onset of dizziness. She rested her forehead on Draco's shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. Draco looked down at her bushy head in surprise.

"I never knew you cared so much, Granger."

"You're making me dizzy, Malfoy," she groaned into his shoulder. "I'm sure if we just stopped to talk to your boss he'd eventually lay off." She lifted her head and looked into Draco's face with a cheeky grin.

"I am the smartest witch of my age, you know. I think I could hold my own in a conversation." Draco smirked back in response and twirled her under his arm.

"Fine, but he asks us anything about our marriage and I answer; got to keep my story straight." He released her hand, but not her waist, and they both walked over to where Hargreaves was standing beside a woman whom Hermione assumed to be Mrs. Hargreaves.

"Mrs. Malfoy, you and your husband make a splendid couple," said the woman boisterously. She was rather large and swathed in a robe of bright magenta silk. Hermione was eerily reminded of the Fat Lady entrance to the Gryffindor common room. "If only my husband was so inclined to dance." The woman looked towards her husband wistfully. Mr. Hargreaves only laughed.

"We were beginning to think you never existed, Mrs. Malfoy," he said warmly, though he offered a sideways glance at Draco. "You never seem to be able to attend any of our benefits. What is it exactly that you do, again?"

"She's a journalist," interjected Draco before Hermione could respond, "She works for The Daily Prophet." Though she maintained a wide smile, Hermione slid her hand around Draco's back and pinched his side tightly. It was a testament to his emotional control that he managed not to exclaim in pain.

"A journalist, eh?" said Mr. Hargreaves, "A journalist who wears steel toed boots and wool travelling cloaks?" This time, Hermione answered before Draco had even opened his mouth.

"I'm doing an editorial piece on aurors. You know, a day in the life sort of thing. Got myself all kitted up in the standard issue uniform," She smiled winningly at Draco for her quick save. Unfortunately, Mrs. Hargreaves spoke again.

"You know, dear, you look rather familiar. Are you sure we haven't met before?" Hermione's smile froze. It wasn't likely that she would be recognized. She _was_ a celebrated war hero alongside Ron and Harry, but she and Ron were never really mentioned in the press. Unlike Harry, she had never been recognized in the street before. Yet, Hermione had friends in high places and she had made a name for herself in the Ministry. In any case, recognition from the Hargreaves' wouldn't bode well for Draco.

"Quite sure," she said stiffly. She could tell Draco was in an equal state of nervousness as his grip on her waist tightened. In all likelihoods, she'd be bruised all over tomorrow.

"No, no, I'm sure I've seen you before. What did you say your name was?"

"Ophelia," said Draco quickly. His answer seemed to satiate Mrs. Hargreaves as to Hermione's 'identity' but she refused to let up.

"Oh, I have it! Are you perchance related to a Miss Hermione Granger? There is a great resemblance," exclaimed Mrs. Hargreaves. Mr. Hargreaves peered curiously at Hermione. Desperately, Hermione tried to shrink into Draco's side, as though to will herself into a different appearance.

"Second cousins," she managed to squeak out to their expectant faces. Before Mrs. Hargreaves could ask any more intrusive questions, Hermione exclaimed that she was dying for a glass of champagne, and led Draco away from their interrogation.

"Honestly, could they be nosier?" she exclaimed in annoyance when they had moved far enough away. Draco handed her a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"I tried to tell you," he said cockily, fingering the edge of his designer dress robes. Hermione glared in his direction and made to walk towards the tables set up for guests.

"Where did you get the name 'Ophelia' from anyway?" she asked when they had sat down at an unclaimed table. Draco shrugged, raising his hand to attract a waiter so he could order some tea.

"Family name," he said indifferently after the waiter left, "think it was my great, great, great aunt or something. I just remember seeing her painting in the hallways. It's right outside my room in the Manor."

Hermione rested her head on her upturned palm and watch as Draco poured milk into his tea. He returned her stare with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Like what you see Granger?" he drawled. Immediately Hermione broke into detailed exclamations of denial.

"No, I was just thinking how ridiculous this is. I mean, our relationship to this date extends over a decade, but it was seven years of unadulterated hate and at least three of curt hallway hellos and a mutual agreement for avoidance. Suddenly, out of the blue, we are dancing together and talking very amiably." She shrugged and took another spin of her champagne to avoid saying anything more. Draco looked at her, and set down his tea.

"Well, times have changed." It was on the whole, a rather noncommittal answer, yet Draco's words laced neither with disdain nor sarcasm, nor the lesser heard desperation. She almost smiled at him, and he almost smiled back. Unfortunately, their moment of almost understanding was cut short by the appearance of another one of Draco's colleagues.

"Hello mate," said the man, clapping Draco on the back, "I've been telling Paloma all about your wife here." Draco broke out into a large grin that made Hermione smile when the man gestured to a young woman standing beside him. She reached her hand out to Hermione.

"Paloma Magnus," she said pleasantly, "Cecil's girlfriend. I've just been dying to meet you after Cecil said Draco had got married. Could hardly believe it myself, given his bachelor tendencies!" Hermione reciprocated the handshake.

"Ophelia Malfoy," she said with a sideways glance at Draco, "Honestly, I was as shocked as you this marriage ever occurred." Paloma laughed and suggested Draco dance with her. Left alone, Hermione accepted an invitation to dance with Draco's colleague Cecil. He had a strong grip and was a competent dancer, but Hermione found herself recalling Draco's ease and grace on the dance floor.

"So," said Cecil conversationally, "How did you ever tie him down?" Hermione laughed and shrugged, trying to think fast.

"I hardly know myself. Must have been my irresistible charm," she hoped sarcasm would suffice as an answer. Cecil smiled and spun her, allowing her to catch a peak of Draco smiling at something Paloma said. Frankly, it was slightly unnerving seeing Draco smile and laugh so excessively. Hermione was certain she had never seen him crack a smile that wasn't laced with malice in her life.

"Well, I glad someone has finally got Draco to settle down, even though we hardly knew he had gotten married. Paloma and I went on a yearlong job transfer to Germany and just came back last week. We'd both have loved to come but Draco said it was a small affair?"

"Yes, just a handful of people to be witnesses. It all happened so quickly." Hermione trailed off and attempted to switch the direction of the conversation to less Malfoy related topics.

"Do you enjoy working at St. Mungos?" she queried conversationally. Cecil nodded enthusiastically in response.

"It's a brilliant institution in which to work. However, I will say that nobody seems to enjoy it more than Draco. He has a real passion for healing." Cecil laughed, "But of course, that would come as no surprise to you."

"Ye-, no, not surprised at all." She smiled thoughtfully, and as the song ended, Cecil led Hermione over to their table where Draco and Paloma were talking.

"Ah, Ophelia, I was just mentioning that we might turn in. You do have to get up early tomorrow for work, right?" Draco looked at her with a hard stare, as though to dare her to disagree. Luckily for him, Hermione was just about ready to fall asleep standing up. She agreed readily and exclaimed her goodbyes to Malfoy's friends. Before she knew it, she was standing outside the Ministry with her heavy cloak draped over her bare shoulders and her bag in her hand.

"Well, Granger, I must say that after a rather rocky start we pulled that off quite well," he stuck out his hand to shake hers. She returned the gesture, albeit, with a slight hesitation.

"Yes, though remember," she smiled cheekily, "My price is still to be determined." Draco mocked bowing.

"I'll await your owl, dearest wife."

Hermione turned and headed to the apparition point. Before she apparated, she looked back, and saw Draco standing in his same spot, watching her leave. He waved; a gesture which she did not return. Resolutely, she apparated home with a loud crack. Hermione landed in front of her building with a thump, due to her unusually heavy bag. She had not bothered to transfigure her clothes back to their natural state, so it was with tired ankles that she traversed the staircase to her flat on the seventh floor. As she unlocked the door, she could hear Crookshanks' hungry mews penetrating the heavy wood.

"I'm coming, Crookshanks," she cooed through the door. When she had finally locked the door behind her, deposited her effects, and fed her extremely hungry cat, Hermione chanced a look at her watch. It read 2:00 AM on the dot. Hermione sighed, and rested her head on the table. She was going to have _a lot_ to explain to Ron and Harry in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Thanks everyone for all the interest, it's greatly appreciated! ^^

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

Hermione's heels clicked seductively as she walked, no, _slunk_, towards the man on the dance floor. Shadows obstructed his face, but there was a distinct familiarity in his build of broad shoulders and slim waist. Hermione felt herself drawn towards him, and when she was close enough to touch him, his own hands reached forward to grasp her waist and pull her flush to his firm body. Smoothly, he glided her across the dance floor, her clicking shoes tapping in time with the music…

"_Tap, tap, tap._"

Hermione awoke with a start, springing up from her cramped position assumed as she slept on her kitchen table. At a repeat of the tapping noise, Hermione swung around violently in her chair, knocking a full cup of cold tea over in the process. Behind her, determinedly pecking at her window, was a snow white owl.

"My god, Hedwig!" Hermione rushed over to open her window, allowing the owl to swoop in and land on her table. Hedwig stuck out her leg upon which a small scroll was attached. As Hermione unfurled the parchment, she tossed a piece of stale toast at the grateful owl. She read quickly, as was her nature:

_Hermione,_

_Knowing you, as we so very well do, Harry and I have come to the conclusion that you stayed up all bloody night working on that stupid report after we specifically told you not to. If you hadn't noticed, it's past noon…Harry has covered for you but we were meant to do reconnaissance this afternoon together. Owl back, as soon as possible, to tell us whether you want us to go without you._

_Ron_

Hermione groaned as she checked her watch and realized that it was indeed, afternoon. Twelve thirty, to be exact. She threw Ron's note on the table, and rushed into her bedroom to get ready. It wasn't until she dashed into her bathroom that she realized she was still completely decked out in the dress Draco transfigured for her. In an act of incredible magical skill, Hermione transfigured her auror uniform back to normal while simultaneously brushing her teeth and getting a brush stuck in her hair. Finally, just as she was about to rush out of the house, another bout of loud tapping sounded at the window.

"What the hell?" Hermione rushed into the kitchen to see a large eagle owl with piercing orange eyes attacking her window. Confused enough to forget about going to work momentarily, Hermione walked over to the window and let the large bird in. It gracefully stepped through the window and glided to land on her kitchen table. When Hermione didn't move, the owl stuck its leg out with a distinct look of disdain that Hermione didn't realize owls could make. Shaking her head, she reached for the roll of parchment and unfurled it.

_Granger,_

_If you aren't busy tonight, Blaise Zabini is throwing an intimate dinner party at his Manor and has invited you. (Don't worry, he knows all about our…situation.) Owl back if you can make it. Would pick you up at 8:00 PM. Dress robes, masks, that sort of thing._

_M._

Hermione sat down at her kitchen table, Draco's owl looking at her expectantly. Hermione shook her head and stuffed the parchment unceremoniously into her robe pocket. Only vaguely aware of her actions, Hermione gave Draco's fearsome looking owl the remainder of Hedwig's toast and locked the window in an open position so he could get out. Ignoring the owls offended hoots as she left without replying, Hermione apparated away in a swirl of black ministry issue robes.

* * *

"Hermione, where the hell have you been?" came an annoyed voice from somewhere in front of her. She looked up from the paper work on her desk to see her two best friends standing in front of her, arms crossed and foreboding looks on their faces. She knew she would have to deal with them sometime.

"I slept in," she shrugged, attempting to appear off hand, yet apologetic, "considerably. I promise it won't happen again. Honestly." She fancied Ron's gaze softened slightly, but Harry was still on the offensive.

"Hermione, we have been telling you time and time again that you have to take some time off. All this stress is doing a real number on your health. You're looking peaky as ever today." He gestured toward the mirror mounted on her office wall for her to take a look for herself. Frankly, Hermione didn't think she looked so horrible; sure, her hair was frizzier than usual, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Her robe was wrinkled, and stained with ink and blood, and probably tea, though she reasoned her lack of cleanliness was due to her being rushed. Actually, she thought as she studied herself closer, she was looking horribly pale and slightly green from certain angles. Her skin was dry and her lips cracked. She must have made a pretty picture as Draco's wife the previous night.

"Anyways," apparently Harry had been talking as Hermione studied herself in the mirror, "both Ron and I have talked it over with the boss and we all agree that an extra two week vacation effective immediately is well overdue." Hermione nodded vaguely until she fully realized what Harry had said.

"A vacation? You can't force me to go on a bloody vacation I don't need! We're swamped in the office right now! You need me!" She jumped up from her chair, hair cackling with electricity. It was a testament to Harry and Ron's courage that they stood their ground. Harry raised one eyebrow at her shocked face.

"Hermione, you have no choice. This is an official intervention, and we are taking you home whether you like it or not. I think we can manage the office for a couple of weeks without you." Hermione sent him an _I-dare-you-to-try_ look, but Harry shook his head.

"I know that you are the smartest witch of our time, believe me, I do. But do you really think that after defeating Voldemort, I won't be able to force you to take a measly, two week vacation?" Hermione deflated slightly. Ron began packing up her bag as she stood dumbfounded at her desk.

"Hermione, I know that you will come to agree with us," he said, sternly, "After a few days, you'll be grateful for the rest."

Feeling as though she had lost all her senses, Hermione blandly followed Harry and Ron out of her office and down to one of the many fireplaces in the Ministry's lobby. Looking woefully out at the numerous people walking through the lobby, Hermione considered making a run for it. However, as she looked at Harry and Ron's concerned and determined faces, Hermione realized she was feeling a little sleepy. Perhaps if she went home today and caught up on some sleep, she'd be well enough to convince her well meaning friends that she could come back to work. Besides, she thought as her stomach gave an ungainly rumble, she was rather hungry. A one day break would be perfectly acceptable, especially since she had missed the majority of the day anyways.

Waving goodbye to Harry and Ron, she threw a handful of floo powder into the fire. In a matter of moments, she found herself standing in her living room, with the clock on the mantle chiming a woeful one o'clock. Hermione threw her bag and cloak on the floor and kicked off her shoes in the general direction of the closet. Heading towards the bedroom, she was surprised to hear a series of sharp hoots. Walking into her kitchen, Hermione found Draco's strange owl still sitting on her table with a surly look on his face.

"I suppose the git told you to wait for a reply, didn't he?" she said, to which the owl responded with a loyal hoot.

"Fine," Hermione pulled Draco's crumpled letter fully intending to respond with a firm negative. However, looking at her watch, a traitorous voice in her head told her that she could sleep for six hours and still have an hour to get ready for the party. She shook her head, trying to force herself to decline as she grabbed a quill and a new piece of parchment. Yet, somehow, as her quill touched the smooth parchment, her brain went into that funny state of absolute senselessness that she had so often seen displayed by the likes of Lavender and Parvati from her Hogwarts days.

_I'll be ready._

* * *

Six and a bit hours later, Hermione was well rested, showered and currently standing in front of her closet with no idea what to wear. As she sifted through the numerous sets of wizarding robes in an assortment of cuts and colours, Hermione cogitated on what exactly an _intimate dinner party_ entailed. Best case scenario: an assortment of worldly and culturally varied individuals possessing cascades of knowledge which they were eager to share and debate. She'd barely have time to talk to Draco at all. More likely, she'd be the laughing stock of a room full of ex-Slytherins. However, by some means, she didn't think even Malfoy would go that far for a laugh.

Reflecting on Malfoys in general, as she laid three potential candidates on her bed to review, she realized that this entire escapade was probably the craziest, most idiotic thing she had ever done. Since when do you start going to fancy parties pretending to be your enemy's new wife? As far as she knew, you didn't.

"Perhaps," she pondered out loud to herself with a hysterical sort of laugh, "I _am_ overworked."

Sighing, she fingered the edge on one of the dress robes laid out across her mattress. It was a set of dress robes in a deep sparkly blue. Harry and Ginny (but mostly Ginny) had gotten them for her one Christmas. Somehow, she felt wearing their gift to a party hosted by former Slytherins as Malfoy's date would be disrespectful. Therefore, with a loving smile, she took it off the bed and hung it back in her closet. Just as she went to chose between some ivory summer robes, and some in a conservative black, a knock sounded at her door.

Frantically, Hermione checked her watch, worried that it might already be eight. It was however, only seven twenty. Surely Malfoy couldn't be here yet. Clutching her towel tightly to her chest she scampered into the hallway and called through the door.

"Who is it?" A disgruntled sigh resounded from the other side.

"It's me, Granger," said Draco, in an exasperated drawl. Irritated at his gall, Hermione swung open the door, forgetting she was dressed in merely a bottle green bath towel. Malfoy, however, noticed almost immediately.

"Dressing a little too casual, aren't we?" he said smirking. Hermione huffed, and pulled her towel tighter around her.

"You're forty minutes early," she hissed, "I'm not ready yet." Draco pushed past her and walked around her tiny flat.

"Very nice, Granger," he chuckled, fingering her knitting magazines and avoiding the multiple stacks of books balanced precariously around the room. Hermione was not so easily distracted.

"Why are you here _forty minutes early_?"

Draco held out a paper wrapped package. "I figured you might not have dress robes to fit the occasion."

Hermione stuck her nose up at the package. "I'll have you know that I have plenty of appropriate robes, fit for the occasion." She spun on her heel and stalked back into her room. She didn't really have anything appropriate, but Malfoy didn't need to know about that. Unfortunately, a smirking Draco followed her into her bedroom.

Practically sizzling with irritation, Hermione stepped into her bathroom and put on a thick dressing gown. Draco stood in front of her closet, surveying the damage she had done while trying to find some clothes. When Hermione returned, he held the package out to her again.

"Just try it, Granger. They're perfect," he almost smiled, but Hermione figured it fell more to the side of a smirk. Still, she wrenched the package from his grip and stomped into the bathroom to change.

The dress robes were really marvelous, actually. In a dark, garnet red, the light, sparkly, fabric fell in pools at her feet. The sleeves started thin at the shoulder and ended with a large bell at the wrist. The front neck line was low; slightly lower than Hermione was comfortable with, to be frank. However, the back came up high, resolving with a stiff collar fitting around the back of her neck. Hermione reached into the package and pulled out a gold masquerade mask. Beautifully crafted, from what Hermione suspected was real gold, Hermione placed it on her face, somewhat surprised at seeing her own large brown eyes peering through holes the shape of cats eyes. The detailed edges were carved so thin the gold looked like lace. Smirking to herself, Hermione noticed a garnet eyed snake climbing up one side. Leave it to Malfoy to make everything a little bit Slytherin. Smiling to herself, Hermione did a little twirl in front of the mirror and bent down to affix a pair of strappy gold sandals to her feet.

"Granger, did you slip and die in there?" Inexplicably, the magic of the moment was broken. Mask in hand, Hermione tramped into the living room where Draco was lounging on her sofa reading The Daily Prophet.

"Where did you get these robes?" Hermione asked coldly. Draco looked up and smiled.

"Ah, see! I told you they were perfect. Put your mask on," he stepped towards her and slid the mask from her hand.

"Spin," he commanded softly, gripping her shoulder and spinning her in a half turn. Desperately trying not to blush, Hermione felt him reach around her and place the mask lightly on her face. Using gold spun ties on either side, he tied a small bow at the back of her head, over her monstrously voluminous brown hair.

"It's very light," she commented, at a loss for anything else to say. She really _must_ be overworked, she thought. Draco spun her back to face him.

"It's charmed to be nearly weightless. It was my mother's mask," he cleared his throat, "Should help with the whole, 'you're my wife' charade."

Hermione, desperate to look anywhere besides Draco's face (though she couldn't understand for the life of her why…must be the unadulterated loathing she felt for him) glanced at the clock on her wall. It read nearly five to eight.

"Well," she said in a falsely cheery voice reminding her of Lavender, "I guess we had better get going. What time are we expected?" Draco seemed to be shaken from a revere. He grabbed his top hat from the table where he had left it.

"We have just enough time to apparate over to the carriages," he said, checking his pocket watch. Hermione, though confused by his statement, went to retrieve her cloak. When she returned, Draco held out his arm to her and mock bowed.

"M'lady," he said silkily. Hermione rolled her eyes and grasped his arm. In the next moment, she felt the familiar tug of apparition before landing unsteadily on a cobbled road. All around her wizards in matching blue robes led couples into large carriages led by huge white horses with wings. Tall light posts illuminated the area. Draco raised the brim of his hat to a man who walked past them and motioned to one of the wizards in blue.

"The usual carriage, Mr. Malfoy?" asked the man hurriedly, as he dodged a carriage that was taking flight. Draco held onto his hat as the rapidly rising carriage sent a huge gust of wind in their direction.

"Yes please," said Draco, in the nicest voice Hermione had ever heard him speak. Hermione was still staring at her surroundings in awe when Draco tugged at her arm to get her to follow the man in blue. Soon they were at the door of a dark wood carriage accented with silver. A team of four white, winged stallions waited patiently hooked to the carriage. The man in blue opened the carriage door and Draco held out a hand to help Hermione into its roomy enclosure.

The inside of the carriage was even more opulent that the outside. Dark green velvet seats blended perfectly into silver walls. Curtains in the same dark green hung on either side of clear glass windows. Candles mounted in large silver brackets illuminated the interior. By the time Hermione had finished taking in all the glamour of the cabin, Draco had casually arranged himself in the seat across from her, a smirk gracing his features.

"Like what you see, Granger?" he idly inspected his manicured fingernails before pulling on a pair of white gloves. Hermione turned a glowering face on him; however, she was so amazed she could hardly arrange her face in a glare.

"Please," she scoffed unconvincingly, "I'd been impressed if it wasn't so disgustingly Slytherin. Why though, "she couldn't help relieving her curiosity "is everyone taking a carriage to the party when they could just apparate?"

"Because it's vogue to arrive in a carriage, and nobody would dare to arrive any differently."

"Well, I for one have never arrived to an intimate dinner party via horse and carriage," said Hermione, as she pulled back one of the curtains to peer into the darkness outside.

"Right," coughed Draco into a white gloved hand, "when I wrote intimate dinner party, I wasn't being so absolutely truthful." He broke off, expecting a tirade of angry remarks, but Hermione looked at him as though it was obvious.

"I began to wonder, Malfoy, with the masquerade masks and flying horse drawn carriages," she smirked at his blank face, "Where is your mask, by the way?" Draco reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a red mask with a long pointed nose that matched perfectly with the colour of Hermione's robes. He took of his hat, and tied the mask on his face, somehow managing not to let a single blonde hair fall out of place.

"How do I look?" he said dashingly as he put his top hat back on. Hermione had to admit that she had never seen Malfoy look quite as handsome as he did today. She smiled in response, her reply cut short by the graceful descend of the carriage. Hermione peered out the window and saw a huge mansion lit up with candles so that it absolutely glowed in the darkness. As soon as Hermione felt the carriage stop, the door swung open, and the same man dressed in blue stuck out his hand to help her out of the carriage. Staring in awe up at the house, to which hundreds of beautifully dressed, masked figures were now walking towards, Hermione felt Draco's presence behind her, and his arm held out to her side.

"Ready, Mrs. Malfoy?" She grasped his arm with her hand and smiled.

"Ready."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Sorry for the monstrously long wait!

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

Meanwhile, as Hermione was suddenly steeped in the glamour of the wealthy lifestyle, Harry and Ron were standing confusedly in the middle of her flat.

"You don't think she was really angry, do you?" said Ron sheepishly as he looked around the empty living room as though Hermione might pop out from behind one of the couches. Harry shrugged and walked into the kitchen.

"Well, Hermione never likes being told she needs a break," Harry called back to Ron as he inspected the kitchen. On the whole, Hermione was a fairly tidy person. Today however, there was dried toast scattered all over the table and counter. Multiple pieces of crumpled parchment littered the table. A puddle on the floor had formed under the open window, due to the brief rainstorm they had had in the afternoon. Harry picked up a ball of parchment at random and unfurled it. As he started reading, his eyes slowly narrowed.

"Hey, Ron," he called back out to the living room, "you've got to come see this." A moment later, Ron had walked into the kitchen. Harry read the note out to him.

"Listen to this: _Granger, if you aren't busy tonight, Blaise Zabini_-"

"That bloke from Hogwarts?" interjected Ron.

"I expect so. How many Blaise Zabinis' can there be? Anyways, _Blaise Zabini is throwing an intimate dinner party at his Manor and has invited you._ Why would he invite Hermione? Okay, this part was strange; _don't worry, he knows all about our dot, dot, dot, situation._"

"What situation? Hermione's never said anything about knowing Zabini."

"Not to me at least. _Owl back if you can make it. Would pick you up at 8:00 PM. Dress robes, masks, that sort of thing._ That's it," Harry looked back at Ron, whose face had broken into an expression of puzzlement.

"Is it signed?" Ron asked. Harry looked back at the crumpled note in his hand.

"Yeah. By the letter 'M'."

"M? That's unusual."

"Rather." Harry folded up the note and slid it into his pocket. "Well, I guess we don't have to wonder where she is; obviously she went to Zabini's party with this M person."

"It does all seem rather suspicious, don't you think? I mean, Hermione looked like death turned over this morning and now she's off to intimate dinner parties with dress robes and masks? It doesn't make any sense," pondered Ron, as he closed the window and cleaned up the puddle of water with his wand. Harry responded with a shrug, and went to explore the rest of the tiny apartment, to see if Hermione left anymore clues regarding her whereabouts. However, save for the scattering of some clothes over her bed, and a mewling Crookshanks, there was nothing remotely noteworthy. He turned around from inspecting Hermione's bookshelf at the sound of Ron's voice.

"Well, mate, I say we just show up in the morning demanding answers." Harry nodded in response, and followed Ron to the floo.

"Right then," Harry said before stepping into the fire, "Come over tomorrow for breakfast and we'll go over together. " At Ron's approval, Harry threw the iridescent powder at his feet and disappeared in a swirl of green flames.

* * *

Eerily similar, perhaps, to Harry's whirlwind departure, Hermione was spinning round and round on the dance floor, her loose robes swirling delicately around her body. She spun until the music came to a shuddering halt, and cheers erupted from the dance floor. Clutching her stomach from laughter, Hermione walked off the dance floor with her partner, a young gentleman in a black top hat and silver mask covering half his face.

"Honestly," she said brightly, "I don't think I've ever had this much fun dancing before!" Her partner laughed and said he agreed wholeheartedly in a rich, Mediterranean accent, before excusing himself to go get some drinks. Smiling broadly, Hermione walked over to the table where Draco and Blaise Zabini were currently sitting. Hermione was very quickly starting to realize that her spirits were enormously uplifted since this morning. Perhaps a vacation wasn't such a ridiculous idea after all. Sighing contentedly, Hermione sat down heavily in one of the chairs beside Draco.

"Did you enjoy dancing with Prince Cassius?" Draco asked, his voice laced with derision. On account of her good mood, Hermione chose to ignore it and kept smiling.

"Immensely, she responded cheerfully, "In fact he's just gone to get us all some drinks."

"Lovely." This time the derision was not to be ignored. Hermione glared at Draco through the eyes of her mask, to which Draco responded by glaring right back. Blaise, however, was grinning broadly; though never admitting it to anyone, he had rather enjoyed the sparring matches Draco and Granger had part-taken in all throughout their years at Hogwarts. Never imagining that he would get to witness such a fight again, Blaise settled himself against the back of his chair and prepared to enjoy.

"What is your problem, Malfoy? You _told_ me to network; _I'm networking_!" Draco's brow furrowed deeper, and he leaned forward, his voice sounding menacingly low.

"I_ told_ you to introduce yourself as my wife to anyone who asked. I do _not_ recall asking you to make a spectacle of yourself with the first pompous _ass_ you set eyes on."

Hermione huffed, and crossed her arms defensively. "I was _not_ making a spectacle of myself, Malfoy," she hissed under her breath, "And I will take care to remind you that this _entire_ plan rides on _my_ choice to deceive or not. Without me, Ophelia is nothing more than a figment in your lonely, pathetic imagination."

Draco laughed cruelly, "Please, Granger, don't you think I prepared for this dissention between us? If you suddenly decided to stop playing the wife, I imagine there are a few former Gryffindors who would be very interested to know what you've been doing as of late." He smiled icily, before pompously plucking an invisible speck of dust from his gloved hand. Hermione narrowed her eyes, and was about to retort when Prince Cassius returned, clutching four glasses in his gloved hands.

"For the Lady, her husband, and our esteemed Patron," he said silkily as he passed the tall glasses of an iridescent liquid that seemed to be infused with diamonds around the table. Blaise sipped the liquid appreciatively, while Draco and Hermione both inhaled their drinks with the reckless abandon that generally accompanies feelings of intense annoyance and rage. Prince Cassius, oblivious to the majority of his surroundings (but delightfully handsome nonetheless) drank his champagne in what he imaged was a rakish manner, anticipating events no further than his next dance.

"Would the Lady like another dance?" asked Prince Cassius in the dulcet tones of princes in muggle fairytales. Hermione smiled winningly and as she made to place her hand in the prince's proffered glove, Blaise placed a well timed elbow to Draco's shoulder. Draco exclaimed with an indignant cry of pain while he glared at Blaise and rubbed his shoulder. Hermione halted her movements just long enough for Blaise to frantically mouth the words "Dance with her!" in Draco's direction. Lucky for Draco, he was quick to understand:

"Gran—Ophelia!" he exclaimed with a charming grin, "At least save one dance for your husband!" Hermione merely cocked an eyebrow in surprise, but Prince Cassius had already bowed out.

"Of course, perhaps another time," he muttered quickly, before bowing an apology to Hermione and scampering away. Hermione opened her mouth to chastise Draco for chasing Prince Cassius away, but he had already grabbed her hand and guided her swiftly onto the dance floor.

"Malfoy," Hermione hissed discretely behind a sweet smile as they slowly twirled past an assortment of invited ministry officials, "What are you playing at?"

Draco adopted as innocent a face as he could muster. "Me? Playing? Surely not, Granger; not when I have so much at stake." He dipped her at a painstakingly slow tempo, smirking at her annoyed face when he snapped her back up at break-neck speed.

"Look, Malfoy, I know I agreed to pretend to be your wife—"

"For a price," Draco interjected swiftly.

"Yes, for a price, but nevertheless, we've been out two days in a row now. How long do you intend this deception to continue?" Hermione stared at him seriously, for this was a question in desperate need of an answer. Draco, however, was disinclined to respond.

"Granger, why ruin a perfectly good masquerade with endless questions and idiotic princes. Let's just dance and see where the night takes us." With that, Draco spun her in time with the newly accelerated tempo, and pushed all thoughts of wives and deception and princes out of Hermione's head.

* * *

The truth was Draco didn't know how long he would have to keep up this charade. At first, he'd assumed he didn't need to produce and actual living and breathing spouse to appease Mr. Hargreaves. However, when questions about his mysterious mate began coming more frequently and more earnestly, he'd begun to ponder his options. Finding an actual wife seemed like the most foolproof option, but honestly, who did he think he was kidding? Draco wasn't planning to get married anytime soon, and even if he were, finding a bride already named Ophelia severely limited his options. As far as Draco could see, his only viable option (besides telling Hargreaves the truth; naturally, an option ineligible for consideration) was to find a temporary substitute.

This, in itself, presented numerous complications: who, for instance, would be willing to pretend to be his wife (a surprisingly large number of women, he was confident) and yet would still be intelligent enough to uphold the facade for however long was necessary? The pool of feasible women was dwindling rapidly and Draco was still finding snags in his plan. How would he find such a woman and in what manner should he go about "proposing" his matrimonial plan to her? What sort of woman would agree to a plan as foolhardy and degrading as his?

Well, in reality, it turned out none. Which is why Draco felt especially lucky to have captured Hermione Granger in the most random and unlikely situation he could possibly imagine. He felt even luckier that she said yes, though Draco had the vague uneasy feeling that he was going to have to pay a price far steeper than letting go of all his house elves when Hermione finally decided what she wanted in return. Still, Hermione was turning out to be the best possible choice to play his wife. She was intelligent, which, for the wife of a Malfoy, was a must. She was driven and confident, traits she had developed from her Hogwarts days, and honestly, her hair wasn't nearly as obnoxious as it was during her teens. Draco had to admit that he was pleasantly surprised when he noticed all of Hermione's obvious improvements.

However, his pleasant feelings were short lived; her hair may have deflated but her ego, blatant Gryffindor pride, and her obstinate defiance of pureblood superiority had not. Nor had her infuriating penchant for opposing absolutely every decision he made. When he said "network", like any Malfoy wife should, she immediately took it upon herself to find the most ridiculous, shallow, and _single_ man in the room. And then she danced with him loudly and flamboyantly for most of the night. When he had complained to Blaise of Hermione's clear insubordination, Blaise had merely laughed at him, pointing out rather cruelly that Hermione was not, as it were, his actual wife.

Well, as far as Draco was concerned, pretending to be a fake Malfoy wife was essentially the same as actually _being_ a Malfoy wife so the same rules should apply. Blaise, in turn, offered the newlyweds exclusive use of his guestroom for their honeymoon activities. Suitably disgusted, Draco sullenly crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Hermione to stop dancing with that fool who had the audacity to call himself a prince. He was quite content to sit there for the rest of the night brooding, but Blaise had provided him with the opportunity to isolate Hermione from her prince for the rest of the night with one timely elbow to the shoulder. Draco supposed he might as well make the most of it; sure, he was dancing with his bushy-haired enemy Hermione Granger, and sure, it had taken her less than twenty seconds into their dance to start asking intrusive questions that he couldn't answer, but as far as anyone else could tell, Draco Malfoy was at the masquerade ball with his loving, attentive, and compliant wife. Draco resigned himself to making this the most entertaining and enjoyable masquerade ball Hermione had or ever would attend.

* * *

All in all, she had to admit, the night was turning out rather fantastically. After a couple fast paced dances in which Hermione could barely catch her breath, much less talk to Draco about their little predicament, the music shifted to a leisurely waltz and Hermione found herself with no distractions to occupy her thoughts. She opened her mouth, determined to get some answers from the secretive man in front of her.

"Wait, Granger," Draco beat her to the punch, "Before we talk about what this is or where it's going, let get some dinner." He gestured to the flow of people currently making their way from the dance floor to a dining hall in the adjoining room. Hermione looked warily at Draco's steely grey eyes. He seemed sincere, but she was beginning to think that he was just trying to avoid an honest conversation. However, she was forced to concede as her tummy gave a rather unladylike rumble of hunger.

"Fine," she said resignedly, putting her hand on Draco's arm as they joined the stream of people entering a giant hall that rivalled the one in Versailles, "But don't expect me to forget, Malfoy."

"Believe me, Granger. After all the years we've been acquainted, I've come to realize you forget very little." He place a hand on the small of Hermione's back and pushed her, none too gracefully, towards the head of the table where Blaise was currently seated, two empty chairs on either side of him. Hermione took her seat gratefully, for after the copious amounts of dancing she had participated in, she felt as though her legs might collapse out from under her.

The table they were seated at was of the same ebony wood that the majority of Blaise's dark house was decorated with, and Hermione was certain it was twice as long as any of the tables in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. She also suspected it was magically supported as the length, coupled with the sheer amount of meat trays, soups and cakes piled upon it would surely cause a regular table to snap in two. Seated at the head of the table, Hermione could barely see down to the last person on the other side. She turned to compliment Blaise on the general splendour, but he had already risen to give a welcoming speech.

"Honoured guests, I would like to thank you all for attending my little get together," he called loudly, his voice echoing slightly in the vacuous hall. "Now you all know, my late mother prided herself on throwing the most elaborate and well attended masquerade in all of England!" Knowing laughter rose up from the guests, and despite being unacquainted with the majority of the guests, Hermione found herself smiling too.

"I have made it my mission to uphold my mother's traditions, and as such, I feel it is my duty to introduce a tad of controversy, and a little scandal into our intimate party. Therefore, it is my great pleasure to introduce my guests of honour, the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!" With a sweeping crescendo, and wild gestures to match, Blaise brought the attention of the entire table to Draco and Hermione, who were both sitting, frozen with disbelief. Draco was the first to come to his senses, by holding out his hand to Hermione across the table. She took it numbly, and they both rose swiftly with smiles that didn't reach their eyes to meet the cheers and applause. Somewhere in front of Hermione a flashbulb went off, but she hardly registered the burst of light. All she could think of was how relieved she was that Blaise's late mother had a fondness of masquerades.

* * *

"Damn it, Blaise, I don't understand what you were thinking," growled Draco as he sulked in a high backed leather arm chair beside the fire. His mask was sitting on the table beside him and he had undone the collar of his dress robes. Hermione sat in a matching chair on the other side of the fire, with her legs curled up under her, and her head resting limply on her arm. They had been over this argument so many times; she was in great danger of falling asleep right there in that chair.

"I was thinking," droned Blaise slowly, from his relaxed position lounging on the couch directly in front of the fire, "that if you wanted Hargreaves to believe your story even a fraction, there would have to be some press coverage. I was presented with the perfect opportunity to help, and I took it." He looked to Hermione for support, but when he noticed she had already given up the struggle to keep her eyes open, Blaise decided to steer the interrogation in another direction.

"Look, Draco, what exactly are you playing at?" Blaise lowered his voice, sat up, and slid over to the side of the couch closest to Draco's chair. "I understand that Hargreaves put you in a tight position and, like a true Slytherin, you slid past that obstacle the only way you knew how. But you've dug yourself deep, and with Hermione Granger of all people! There's no way you can end this quietly, and there's no way you can keep this charade going forever, no matter how many people find out about it in the end."

"It would have been a hell of a lot easier if you could learn to keep your damn mouth shut," Draco muttered, looking pointedly in the opposite direction. His anger towards the entire situation seemed to have finally deflated. Not entirely, of course, but enough to allow him to listen to Blaise with a vague sense of seriousness. Nevertheless, Draco was determined to keep that revelation to himself, so in an effort to end the conversation as soon as it had started, Draco rose from his chair and went over to Hermione.

Hermione had very clearly fallen asleep. Her arm had collapsed under the weight of her head and was now hanging limply over the arm of the chair, with her head resting on top of it. In her other hand, which rested on her legs, she clutched the gold spun ties of her delicate mask. As Draco stood in front of her sleeping form, he contemplated leaving her to sleep in the chair all night. She looked comfortable enough to him, but he quickly decided that her guaranteed complaints of a sore neck the next day weren't worth the satisfaction of leaving her to sleep in an armchair while he got a comfortable king sized bed. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and reached down to shake Hermione awake. However, just before Draco's fingers grazed Hermione's shoulder to shake her awake, he realized that he'd much prefer to do _without _her incessant questions for the rest of the night. Therefore, it was with baited breath that he carefully slid his hands under her knees and her shoulders to lift her into his arms.

While Hermione was a slight person, more so from her strenuous schedule of late, Draco grunted slightly as he straightened his back to standing. Hermione's face twitched vaguely at the sound, but she stayed asleep nevertheless.

"We can continue this conversation in the morning," Draco said imperiously, before strutting out of the room, Hermione in his arms, with nary a backward glance. Blaise rolled his eyes impetuously at Draco's back, before a drawn and serious expression came over his face as he watched the couple exit the room. He had a grave feeling that things would not go smoothly in the future for the groom and his new bride.


End file.
